


Dreams

by flimflam99



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 17:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17125475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flimflam99/pseuds/flimflam99
Summary: Set after Sherrinford. Molly has left her job, London and Sherlock Holmes. She wants to forget about him but her dreams won’t let her....





	Dreams

The bookshop was busy and Molly’s head was spinning with the frenzy of customers all pushing towards her.

“I ordered Pride and Prejudice three weeks ago and it STILL hasn’t arrived?...”

“I’ve been waiting in this queue for hours....”

“You’re not as good as Miss Pringle are you?...”

The voices went on and on as Molly frantically tried to find “Pride and Prejudice”. She went along the shelves picking up book after book, none of them what she wanted and then suddenly a hand shot out holding said book. Molly’s eyes trailed from the hand, up the adjoining arm and up further before meeting a pair of ice blue eyes, curly dark brown hair and a derisive smirk.

“Molly, please.....”

“I lo....”

.........................

“Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz”.

Molly groaned and her hand shot out of bed and slammed down on the alarm clock. She pulled back the duvet, swung her feet onto the floor and stood up, padding quickly across the cold wooden floor until she reached the bathroom. It wasn’t until she was under the hot spray of the shower that she remembered her dream. She let out a huff of frustration. Damn... she’d dreamt about Him again. She mentally scrubbed out the number four in her head. Back to square one.

...........................

There was a time when Molly would have danced for joy because she had dreamt of Sherlock Holmes. Why is it that when you want to dream of someone, you rarely do but when you don’t you can never get them out of your head? Molly pondered this as she sat on the bus taking her into work. She tried not to think of him and most of the time kept herself so busy she didn’t think of him (much). Four days, just four days, the longest she had gone without dreaming of him. Four days since she had dreamt of him but ten months since she had seen or spoken to him. His last words to her had been “Molly, please”. Her last words? “I love you”.

.............................

Halfway on her route to work Molly always looks out for the yellow house. It’s not yellow on the outside but one of the rooms inside is painted the most garish of yellows. One word pops into her mind when she sees this house, “coward”. Because that is what she is, a coward. She ran instead of standing her ground. She tries to avoid looking at the house but she always has to, in fact she has got a bit obsessed with it, as though in looking at the house she is acknowledging how much of a coward she really is.

Molly works in a bookshop now, one of those old-fashioned ones that always surprises you that they are still going. She likes working there but doesn’t love it, she loved being a pathologist but that was her old life which was full of excitement, drama but terrible sadness. She can’t cope with that anymore so for the moment she is just taking one day at a time,

.......................

She was glad to get home, the day had been long and busy but in a nice way, not like her dream. It was also the day before Christmas Eve so Molly was now officially off for the holidays. Tomorrow she was going to meet up with John and Rosie. She tries to see them at least once a month, although she never goes into the heart of London and John never comes to her home. Molly picks the location and she texts John the night before. She does this in the (probably futile) hope that John isn’t followed. He swears that he never tells Sherlock where he is going or who he is seeing and Molly believes him. John though is not very good at keeping secrets and Molly is sure that at least one if not both of the Holmes brothers knows where John goes. 

The flat she lives in is small, she could afford better, she sold her little house in London for a small fortune (she couldn’t bear to spend another minute in the place after that call and the subsequent invasion by the bomb squad and the police). But Molly wasn’t planning on staying in this little town for very long before moving on to somewhere else - anywhere else. She felt restless as though her soul was searching for something that had been lost - or wasn’t there to begin with.

........................

Molly is standing on the steps of Trafalgar Square and there at the bottom of the steps was Sherlock in deep conversation with a man that Molly didn’t recognise. She shouted to Sherlock and then ran down the steps. Sherlock turned to leave, the two men parting ways, and Molly shouted his name again. Sherlock turned, looked her straight in the eye with a grim expression and then turned and walked away.....

.......................

Molly woke with a start, her heart thudding, a feeling of grief overwhelming her at the dream she had just had, the callous way that Sherlock had just turned away, completely ignoring her. She shuddered and a couple of tears escaped. She took a deep breath before getting out of bed and going through her morning routine. She was suddenly glad to be seeing John and Rosie today, she needed the comfort the little girl would give her and her unconditional love.

.......................

Molly had chosen a cafe on the outskirts of London to meet with John and Rosie. The weather was cold and crisp, a bright and sunny December day. Molly had brought gifts for John and Rosie and she piled them onto the seat next to her before ordering a tea. John was usually late (the perils of parenthood) so she was surprised when a shadow fell across the table, she looked up and Molly suddenly felt very faint as the person stood there was Sherlock.

“Molly” The deep baritone voice was just the same and while Molly tried to get her brain to work again Sherlock slipped into a chair opposite her. “How are you?”. She stared at him and then suddenly thrust her chair back half rising preparatory to fleeing the cafe, when she remembered her dream and how she felt when Sherlock turned away from her, she remembered the yellow house and the word she associated with it and she sank back down into her chair.

“What do you want?” Molly stated flatly. “And where are John and Rosie?”. She stared at her hands lying mere inches from his on the table.

“They’re at home and that’s what I’m doing here. I’m bringing you home” Molly’s head snapped up at this and in her anger completely missed the gauntness of his face, the sadness in his eyes and the diffidence in his voice.

“Home! I know my way home, Sherlock!” Sherlock flinched at Molly’s harsh tone and he bowed his head, eyes tightly screwed shut.

“I-I mean home w-with me” Sherlock stuttered. It was only then, hearing the normally confident Sherlock stutter that Molly really looked at him. He was pale, far too thin and his normally bright inquisitive eyes were dull and lifeless.

“What’s wrong?” Molly demanded. He just stared at her. “Sherlock?” She pressed in a softer voice. It was the compassion in her voice which finally broke him. Sherlock pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and began to sob.

....................

Molly had no idea how she got Sherlock back to her tiny flat. Some kind soul in the cafe helpfully called her a cab and Sherlock was now lying next to her on her bed, his head cradled against her chest, fast asleep from the exhaustion of tears and explanations. 

After Sherrinford Sherlock tried to see Molly but she refused to have anything to do with him and left both Barts and London behind. John, despite his own misgivings, respected her wishes to not discuss Sherlock with her. It broke Molly’s heart to see Sherlock like this and to know that she was at least partly to blame. Euros had played her part too, as Molly now knew and it had taken Sherlock months to sort himself and his family out and once he had done that his next step was to go and get the love of his life back, his pathologist, his anchor, the one who truly saw him, the one he had almost destroyed that night.

Sherlock stirred in his sleep, muttering something incoherent under his breath and Molly pulled him closer to her, her hand sliding soothingly through his curls as he settled back into sleep.

.....................

A year later and Molly was back at Baker Street, she was lying in Sherlock’s bed and was cradled in his arms. She felt safe, warm and so very very loved. It was the early hours of Christmas Day and she had just woken up. Sherlock stirred next to her and she turned awkwardly, her baby bump hindering her. Sherlock gathered her back into his embrace and with a soft sigh she laid her head on his chest and fell back to sleep to dream of Sherlock and their baby and their future.


End file.
